Separation Anxiety

Years ago–and I mean lots of years ago, when I was in high school–I read a short story called "A Period of Adjustment." (Note, this is NOT the Tennessee Williams play of the same name.) In the story, a woman wakes up, sneaks out of bed, trying to not awaken her husband in the process. For the next half hour or so, she tries to escape the wrath of her homicidal husband long enough to get to the kitchen and make coffee. It turns out, once the guy has that first cuppa Joe in the morning, that awful Mr. Hyde turns right back into that nice Dr. Jekyll.

And why am I thinking about "A Period of Adjustment?" Because that’s what we’re in right now–a period of adjustment. The book tour starts on Tuesday. We have to leave on Monday in order to make a 6 AM Tuesday live (relatively live anyway) appearance in Phoenix on the local NBC affiliate. (Question to self: Does anyone actually WATCH TV at six AM?)

Pre-trip blues usually fall under the heading of "separation anxiety." Years ago when Boney, my half German Shepherd/half Irish Wolfhound pound puppy, came down with a full blown case of separation anxiety, he ate in the following order: a: a rubber plant down to the roots; b: my daughter’s RayBan sunglasses; and c: my checkbook. (Guess which one upset me the most?)

So we’re having a case of separation anxiety in our house–two cases, actually, my husband’s and mine. We do not go into full homicidal rage mode here, but things do get a little tense, especially since Bill and I have two different ways of coping with the same malady. For one, he starts packing days in advance. I pack the morning we leave. Bella, our purse dog, doesn’t have to worry about separation anxiety because she won’t know we’re leaving until we put her in the car. Daphne, our aging golden retriever who DOESN’T go on book tours, will be mad at us the moment she sees the first suitcase come out of the closet, but I have a feeling she’ll be more than happy once Bella is out of the way and not stealing food out of the Big Dog Dish.

When the suitcases are packed, Bill will be the one putting them in the trunk of the car. I never have and never will load a trunk in a fashion that meets with his special trunk-packing specifications.

In a way, it’s a lot like that woman trying to live long enough to make her husband’s first cup of coffee. Once we hit the road, however, and once we have our first road-trip BurgerKing Whopper Junior, we’ll be in full book touring mode and all will be forgiven.

If you’re interested in where we’re going, check the schedule listings on www.jajance.com. And you can look forward to having a new edition of Tales and Tails from the Road.